


Eden

by 55anon (Anon)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coda, Heaven, Home, Hope, M/M, Purgatory, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Empty (Supernatural), Trigger warnings:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon/pseuds/55anon
Summary: The righteous live by faith alone.  But Dean is not a righteous man.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60





	Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'ed.
> 
> Dean's thoughts and attempt at suicide are in heaven. He does not die and is not injured.

It makes sense that Dean's heaven feels a lot like a custom built, special edition, 15th anniversary director's cut blu-ray of Dean's purgatory: stuck on a road, searching for home. In fact, he'd say that Purgatory would've been better-- at least then he'd had the hope driving him, faith that he'd find Cas.

It goes without saying Dean's lost faith. He'd thought he'd lost hope too, after watching the fucking Empty swallow Cas like a malevolent oil spill consuming all those fucking _birds_ , seagulls and puffins and arctic terns that Cas had babbled about once in the long miles between cases. Dean doesn't even remember how the conversation started-- talking to Cas, _really_ talking to Cas-- was an adventure in non sequiturs. Actually, he remembers now, because afterwards Dean took extreme offense to the fact that yes, Baby was a gas guzzler but apparently in Dean's heaven, Baby must run on fucking solar panels because it's always sunny and the tank is always full.

Shitty heaven doesn't even have a place to buy beef jerky and beer with shitty dollar bills hustled from shitty people playing on shitty pool tables at shitty bars.

But the shittiest thing about heaven is that Dean found, in the same brutal, heart-staking, merciless way that Billie had forced him to go back to life ( _you want to die_ , she'd said)-- that he'd still held out hope. That some protean part of him was excited, nervous, to meet Cas there, waiting for him with a "Hello, Dean" and dorky smile. He doesn't know how long he stood there like an idiot, eyes closed and heart in throat whispering unconscious prayers that would surely be answered by the sound of wings and rustling trenchcoat.

Dean's heaven apparently contains no night and no starlight. Dean's heaven apparently has a fixed sun and a fixed shadow and no true north to tell him which direction to start driving.

So he got into the car. What else was there to do? And there was that gut punching hope again that maybe Cas' voice would give him disembodied directions from the radio.

Dean's heaven apparently contains an infinite number of Led Zeppelin mixtapes and the Colt sitting in the glovebox.

After he started driving, windows abruptly rolled down letting in a pleasant breeze, he felt that thing, that _hope_ , building again. He found himself looking at his phone, waiting for it to ring; found himself glancing at his rear view mirror, waiting for Cas to appear; found himself reaching for his phone dialing Cas' number.

It rang. It even went to voicemail ( _make your voice.. a mail_ ) and Dean caught himself saying, "Hey Cas I'm on I-66 heading east, just passed the exit for Albuquerque so if you wanna come down there's a great diner with the best apple pie right off--"

\--phone thrown out the window to get out of the car and throw up on the side of the road. Dean didn't expect he'd be gasping without tears, pummelling the broken asphalt under him without blood running down his knuckles in heaven.

Apparently Dean's heaven is full of cornfields and the exhilarating ability to visit parents who never raised him.

It's not all bad. There's Bobby. There's Ellen and Jo. Even Crowley is there, suffering in his personal heavenly hell full of minions whose own strange version of heaven is to … serve their liege. Dean can only say he's really fucking glad he was not born a peasant in the 13th century. Crowley even holds banquets with his favorite enemy barons, where they all try to backstab each other but somehow all win more … whatever it is they're trying to win, like an infinite replay of Game of Thrones. Even the orgies are strange? In a good way. Everyone enthusiastically consents and somehow all their kinks align and there are no safewords because apparently everyone has telepathy. Dean never participates; the desire to is never there.

But Dean likes spending time with old friends, people he thought he'd never see again, drinking their infinite supply of beer having an infinite number of barbeques, crashing on their couch because he's stuffed with ribs and potato salad and his heaven does not have a home. Does not have starlight. Is defined by its emptiness.

Dean assumed that no one would be interested in visiting his heaven-- who wants to be on the road forever going nowhere? He figured that it was some kind of heavenly etiquette thing where people visited each other's heavens like they would have visited neighbor's houses. Dean thought his was the equivalent of four walls and a door.

Apparently, not everyone shares his view. Apparently, his heaven is actually pretty popular. People visit his heaven because apparently, it's the perfect place to go when they want a roadtrip. There's the feeling of adventure, there's scenic views, there's no kids arguing in the backseat, there's dirt paths leading to beautiful spots with no bugs and no roots or pebbles digging into backs when having a romantic tryst. But the best part, everyone agrees, is leaving his heaven. Not because it's unpleasant. His heaven is wonderfully pleasant, fun, relaxing, a beautiful late summer day. The best part is leaving because--

Someone described his heaven as "the place that reminds you you're going home."

Dean had laughed because otherwise he would have started beating the shit out of them. He just clapped his hand on their shoulder and replied that he was glad at least some people were getting something out of his heavenly theme park.

And watching them drive away, Dean really did start crying, tears unending.

Only Missouri understood instantly what his heaven really was. She took him home, fed him, tucked him into bed and kissed his forehead. That night, Dean slept like the dead.

She was merciful in that he didn't even have to ask. She just shook her head and said, again, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Dean doesn't know how many times a heart could break in heaven. It seems he's going to have eternity to find out.

One day (if you could divide this eternal sunshine of the spotless mind into days), he screwed up the courage to visit Jimmy and Amelia Novak.

Their heaven is beautiful in some indescribable way that other heavens are not. Jimmy and Amelia were people of faith. It's not that there are angels walking up and down a ladder with heralds playing their heavenly trumpets. It that-- there's this unshakeable faith that permeates the air. An unending, immortal compassion that brings Dean to his knees.

There is that rising hope--no, more than hope-- a certainty filling him like clear, cold water inexorably rising in a dry well that surely, _surely_ Cas is here. Or if he's not here, Jimmy knows where he is. Or if Jimmy doesn't know where he is, he can at least confirm that Cas is _alive_ , and in heaven. It doesn't matter if Cas doesn't want to see him-- Dean has eternity to search for Cas, to pray to Cas, to find a way to bare his heart and soul and body and mind to Cas. The only thing that matters is that Cas is alive.

It's a very strange feeling when they tell him that they haven't seen Cas. Their heaven is built in such a way that despair translates to a muted, faint disappointment, like a child getting chocolate chip cookies when really, they wanted chocolate cake. Dean smiles and thanks them, even stays for dinner and tells them stories about Claire. Somewhere in the telling, his memories of horror are transformed into adversities overcome, and leading Claire into a life of constant danger killing creatures is a manifestation of camaraderie and bravery.

When he leaves their heaven, it's with an ironclad faith that Castiel is out there and Dean will find him in due time.

When he traverses the invisible gradient between heavens, their night turning into dawn into day, the iron begins to thin, rust, decay until it looks like the ruined carcasses of old cars. The anguish rips through him again, hope crushed again. But as he learns the contours of his heaven, he comes to understand that his heaven is built on this fucking cockroach of hope. Hope that Cas is out there. Hope that Dean can hold him, at least one last time. But it wouldn't be the last time, because Dean would never let go. He would stand for eternity keeping Cas in his arms so Cas would never be lost again.

Dean changes his mind. This isn't his custom made purgatory. It's his personal hell. Not hell in the Realm Now Ruled by Rowena sense. That hell isn't personal, not really. It's all pain, screaming, and torture. It's a place that doesn't allow the concept of hope, fundamentally doesn't understand it. When Dean was down there, he was in indescribable pain but he never had hope. Demons were sadistic and liked to use a simulacrum of hope in their mindfuckery torture. But deep down, he knew it wasn't hope. It was self deception.

But here? In heaven? Dean's heaven has the true, pure, bright shining thing that defies any kind of description or explanation. It's the one that's universal-- the one that every human has felt at one point or another in their life.

And for Dean, every time that hope is crushed, every time his search for Cas comes up empty, he falls down that well of despair. But in heaven, instead of demoralizing him to the point he doesn't want to live, that hope, the pathetic candle that fuels his heaven, never goes out.

It is _exhausting_. His heaven can hold depression. It can hold thoughts of suicide; it can even hold suicidal intent. Telephone poles miraculously disappear when he accidentally veers towards them, angel blades mysteriously sliced through tires but do not slice through arteries--

But the thing is, even his attempts at suicide are borne from hope-- the hope that he could find the Empty and bring Cas home.

Jack visits him sometimes. Jack hasn't changed. He still bears Cas' imprint. Over the years(?), their bond grows as the two people in heaven who miss Cas so much-- love Cas so much-- it manifests as bees in summer fields, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for snacks in the car, Cas' trenchcoat in the trunk. It's a wordless understanding that the hope that is the foundation of Dean's heaven is also the hope that guides Jack as he navigates his role as god.

When Sam comes up, later joined by Eileen, their heaven is very, very different. Dean loves Sam and always will, but the intervening years have changed them. Sam literally has an entire life without Dean, mourning, moving on, having his own family, making his own friends, finding a job outside of hunting. Sam has had human years to soften the memory of the various apocalypses. They are part of his past-- painful, life changing, but separated by human years and the natural course of human memory. It makes a difference.

Sam and Eileen visit Dean's heaven and it takes a few visits for Sam to understand what Dean's heaven really is. Dean could see the various reactions and thoughts flitting through Sam's brain-- sadness that Dean was trapped in what Sam perceived as nostalgia; recollection of their happier memories on the road; grief that Dean ultimately didn't get to live the full, rich life that Sam did. Eileen, as usual, got to the heart of it within two visits.

Once Sam understands, it's clear they both want to help Dean. Literally go on some kind of hunting trip through Dean's heaven as though it's a portal to the Empty and with enough research, enochian, and spell ingredients they'll bring Cas back. And it's true, the hope flares again in Dean like a firefly.

The thing is-- he's already been down this road with Bobby, his mom, his dad, so many other hunters. Retired reapers and all sorts of interesting people who he's met along the way (and Cas really wasn't kidding, time does move very differently in heaven than it does on earth. Well, if you can count eternal time as moving in any way, shape or form). Jack refuses to take part-- it had been a point of bitter contention between him and Dean for a while. Jack is responsible for the world now. Cas made his choice-- made his sacrifice to give the world a chance to stay alive. Jack will not throw away Cas' choice, Cas' act of love, to destabilize the very world he gave his life to save. It is the legacy Cas left him and he will not play with the lives of billions like the angels and demons and gods before him.

Jack did not, however, stop Dean from trying. He never explained to Dean _why_ , what the difference was between Dean trying to rip the universe apart to find Cas and Jack trying to do the same (aside from the fact that Jack has Powers, and Jack has been to the Empty, and Cas made the deal to save Jack from the Empty, etc, etc). Dean suspected it was something to do with the profound bond-- something to do with intent.

The strange thing is, the more time passes, the more Dean comes to-- not peace, his heaven will never be peace. It's not acceptance either, because he will never accept that Cas isn't out there somewhere. It's not a decrease in dedication-- if anything, Dean is more dedicated to bringing Cas back than he has ever been in life or death. And it's not self acceptance or forgiveness, because Dean will never forgive himself for all the wrongs he did to Cas (a list which grows longer every day).

The raw, torn, jagged edges of his desperation have been smoothed to a sharp edge. The questions he asks himself are not a reflection of the chasm Cas' words left. He understood, very early in the exploration of his heavenly jail, that the yearning for home was the same as the yearning for Cas. It was obvious. At the end of the day, Dean has always found home in people rather than places; always found home in Cas.

The more time passes, the stronger his hope becomes. It's not a rational thing, just as faith is not a rational thing. And perhaps this is part of the reason that night returns to his heaven. Stars begin to appear, one by one, not in any sort of particular order or at least, not one he recognizes. At night he sits on the hood of his car and stares up at them. There are no thoughts that float up to the surface in particular. No epiphanies. Just that constant, quiet hope that he no longer fights. He has his days of despair and depression and anger. He still has his friends and family and he visits them regularly. But unlike human grief that, with time, softens memory into a moss covered stone, his memory of Cas remains clear. He lives with Cas' hand on his shoulder every day. He finds himself back at the beginning, when a terrifying creature looked straight at him, reading his soul, told him, "Good things do happen, Dean."

This is the bedrock on which he builds his faith. Because all those years ago, he was a person who could only think of one answer. And Cas had a reply.

When Claire appears in his heaven, she punches him so hard his head snaps back and his cheekbone would've been broken if not for heaven, and then starts sobbing. Screaming that he ruined her life, Cas ruined her life, where was that sonuvabitch because she was going to kill him. He learns over the span of a month where she sits shotgun, ignoring Dean's questions until she snaps at him to shut his cakehole (which, he admits, made it really hard for him to keep a stoic face because it would've been really shitty if he'd burst out laughing) and then out of nowhere telling him that she went to her parents' heaven.

Which … makes sense. Dean slowly learns that Cas, for all that he'd been absent for long, erratic stretches in Dean's life, made an effort to be as much of a constant in Claire's, even if it was just texting once a day. If Dean had known this when he was alive, he likes to think he wouldn't have blown up at Cas, but that's a lie. Claire gives him a knowing look.

She also sees the moment he puts two and two together and realizes Cas was her sort-of father by end of his life longer than Jimmy had been her actual father. He gets now why, beyond irrevocably breaking her family, Dean really did ruin her life. He recognizes that look of betrayal, that the parents she remembered are not the parents she needs. Dean had a chance to reckon with that when he was alive. Claire has to come to terms with it while dead.

There's no better place to do that than driving on endless stretches of road. He watches as something seems to unravel in her, a tension held so long she forgot it was there. In the end, she leaves as suddenly as she came, disappearing into her heaven. Dean doesn't mind. Sometimes he sees her and another woman driving through, taking a roadtrip.

It's after she leaves that he realizes-- he will never get closure. He thought heaven would be some kind of new beginning for him and Cas, a place to really get a chance to build their new lives together. He'd taken for granted that Cas would be here, waiting for him. That Cas would be Cas and somehow defy all odds to come back to Dean, as though Cas was some kind pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, there as a reward for all of Dean's suffering.

And on the heels of that thought is the realization that he doesn't _want_ closure. Because if he has closure and Cas never comes back, it means he's given up on the love of his life, who never gave up on him. And if a miracle happens and he gets that chance, closure means he's taking Cas for granted again. He wants to build something with Cas that includes this eternal hope, to give to Cas the same faith Cas gave him, even when he didn't deserve it.

So he begins to build a house. Somewhere far from the road. Somewhere no one can see or hear or enter. Somewhere only he and Cas have ever been; a place where his faith was so pure it felt like fire: Purgatory.

It's a very appropriate heaven for them.

He builds, and builds, and builds a strange, impossible structure that on the outside looks like a pile of fallen branches and on the inside is taller than the Chrysler building. Animals start to appear-- guinea pigs that eat the hearts of werewolves, bees that swarm leviathan, building their hives inside broken gaping jaws. The guinea pigs are kind of cute.

Wild blackberry thickets and strawberries the color of blood burst into blossom around the house. Vervets with glow-in-the-dark eyes make their homes in the poison thorn acacia trees. And other species begin to appear, creatures Dean's never seen before in nature or tv, only fossil.

It makes the hope in him burn wildly. His heaven begins to have changes in weather-- thunderstorms, hail, tornadoes, freezing rain. His heaven is large; people still travel through and the road very easily accommodates them if they want to drive in spring when the budding trees are pale green, or autumn in a birdlike display of yellow-orange-red feathers. But there is no disputing that his heaven is growing wilder. Hurricanes roar down the coastlines bringing stormchasers; blizzards cover canyons with snow bringing gawkers from Texas who've never seen a snowflake in their life; on days when no one's on the road, the prairies burst into fire and flower.

The changes extend to Purgatory, where great herds of bison roar like grizzly bears and vipertooth tigers begin hunting near the house. Eight legged frogs hop up and down the scarred baobab trees, where mammoth skulls dig their tusks to bleed grace. Their colossal skeletons walk over the forget-me-nots in eerie silence but do not crush the flowers underfoot.

As his hope grows stronger, as his faith grows wilder, so too does their sanctuary. It attracts vampires and ghouls and all sorts of monsters, but even they learn to stay away from the strange corner of Purgatory that sends out screams of lightning. Unholy screams drive even the oldest monsters to find shelter in caves and a shifting, haunted landscape develops between Dean's private heaven and the main of Purgatory. Monsters who venture into the woods (or jungle, or savannah, or swamp, or desert) never come back again, while other monsters never seen since the four extinctions pour out, claiming an ever larger circle of land as their territory. Black phoenixes fill the skies; lava oceans give birth to kraken; rumours spread that the dragons of Eden have returned again. They guard trees filled with jewel bright pomegranates; those who give in to the seductive whispers in the leaves slowly devour themselves in madness.

Dean doesn't know any of this, protected in the heart of it all. He sees the black phoenixes and hope that somewhere, Cas is flying. He practices baking pie using the apples where the salamanders nest. A fountain of cool water appears from a rock, as though Moses himself struck it with his staff. And Dean finds the spontaneous burning bushes hilarious because they shake like horses trying to flick flies off their backs. The nights that split Purgatory with raging screams to Dean sound like the ghost of Cas' voice curving gently around his ear.

Sam and Eileen, Bobby, Ellen, John, Mary feel a change in Dean that they can't quite place. His heaven greets them warmly and the roadtrips are as fun as ever. Dean is more relaxed when he joins them to go to the beach. It's true, he sleeps in the guest room or the living room or the basement less and less, starts telling them he's heading home instead of heading out, but no one can find where that home is. Dean even gives them simple, clear directions on how to get there but somehow, they always get distracted by some new wonder in Dean's heaven and lose their way.

Even Crowley tries to pay a visit using his private plane. But each person's heaven operates on its own set of rules-- Crowley's plane turns into a car and no matter how many times he tries to scry the direction, he ends up in a picturesque forest with fresh green undergrowth and logs of rotting wood. His hellhounds (mixed breed, adopted from the shelter) think it great fun to chase the chipmunks and scare the mourning doves. They roll around, yip and play and yes, it's quite … nice. Peaceful, even. Which is absolutely intolerable and he has to use all his Happy Hound treats to tempt them back to the car. They jump into the car and promptly fall asleep, muddy footprints and drool all over the leather. He's going to have to get the car detailed, _again_. That can wait until later. There's banquet he has to attend and he intends on backstabbing that Count of Monte Casino right up the prick's arse.

Dean doesn't understand (yet also understands) why no one can find the house. Every day the mammoths come and drink more grace from the baobab trees; his home is not a house but the feeling he had in Purgatory sleeping curled up around Cas. His hope is a wild thing; his faith is a wild thing.

And one day he's visiting Missouri when her eyes widen with shock. Which is weird, since he was talking about how he's trained the heart-eating guinea pigs to wait in line for their food and trot off one by one to their little burrows. He casts back to think of what they were talking about earlier-- but that was just run-of-the-mill stuff too. Talking about how many times he got stung trying to transfer the new queen to another hive and he's hoping he did it right; he's read as much as he can about the art of beekeeping but he just doesn't have the knack for it, and these are Purgatory bees anyway …

Missouri looks at him, eyes glistening, smiling wide. Dean doesn't even-- she nods-- he runs out the door and peels out of her driveway, speeding to the house.

He calms down driving on the road. By the time he parks Baby, takes Cas' trenchcoat out of the trunk and lies down on the grass, his heart has stopped doing its best impression of a hummingbird. The air is dry and crackling like it always is before a prairie summer rain. He breathes in the space between Heaven and Hell, Dante's realm of lost souls waiting for prayers. He falls asleep watching the darkening sky and the clouds gathering. He doesn't hear the ground shake, doesn't feel the stench of fear the spreads among Purgatory's monsters. He dreams. Dreams of the time Cas gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.

The wind is howling and screaming and Jack watches in awe, so excited he feels like he's shaking out of his skin.

Then, a blast of light.

Then, a piercing scream.

The force of lightning cracking down as thunder is followed by a wave of pressure ripping a concussive boom through Purgatory.

Jack is certain the sound travels through Heaven and Hell, rippling as a sudden burst of inexplicable joy.

Rowena appears, demanding, "what in _heaven's name_ is going on--" but she immediately understands. The silence is oppressively hopeful.

"Honestly," she carefully wipes her eyes as the lightning show continues. "All this dramatic nonsense."

She looks at Jack, struck by how _young_ he is, and here alone. "Come here, Jack," and she cradles him like a child.

"It's certainly one thing I never thought I'd see in all the years of my life. Did you--?" she waves in the direction of the commotion.

"No," he says. His voice sounds very small.

"And where's Dean? The boy is sleeping through it like a baby!" she tsks. "They never do things by halves, do they," she pets Jack's hair as he curls in closer.

He's crying, the poor lad. "There, there," she soothes, though if she's honest she's comforting herself as much as she is Jack.

One last flash of blue light and the winds slowly abates. The clouds are beginning to disperse, thick with rain, but the sky is darkening to glowing auburn dusk anyway.

There are soft sounds around Dean. The smell of rain. He's smiling-- it's a good dream-- when his beautiful wavelength of celestial intent takes human form and lies down in front of him, hand reaching out to touch Dean's face.

He doesn't open his eyes. Simple puts his arms around Cas, fingers carding through feathers. Cas' body is warm, naked as Eve in Eden. Just as if he'd slipped out of Dean's ribs.

"Dean," Cas huffs, "I told you, that's not what happened in the Garden of Eden--"

Dean, still smiling, eyes still closed, presses his lips to Cas'. Then pulls back and opens his eyes, still smiling.

Cas is looking at him with wonder.

"You remember that time you told me angels used to build nests?"

Cas nods, eyes bright. "I thought you'd forgotten."

Dean shakes his head. "I remembered every word."

He pulls Cas tighter to him.

"I built a nest for you, sweetheart. It's taller than the Chrysler building."

Cas' shoulders, his wings, his whole body begins to shake, chest wracked with sobs.

"Shh," Dean rubs his back. Cas grabs onto him tighter. "Shh. It's okay, Cas. It's okay. I've got you."

He repeats the words over and over while Cas cries in Dean's arms.

"I'm never letting you go, Cas. You hear me? I'm never letting you go."

The words over and over, holding Cas, tangling their legs together, kissing Cas' eyes and forehead and cheeks and mouth.

"I'm never letting you go. I built us a nest, sweetheart. I built us a home."

Cas gasps at those words, shuddering and eyes blue with grace. He closes his eyes, squeezes them shut.

"Hey, hey-- Cas, look at me. Cas, look at me," Dean kisses his eyelids.

Cas slowly opens his eyes.

"You're the love of my life. You don't have to hide anymore. You got that?"

Cas looks at him, searching.

"You're the love of my life. I'm never going to let you go."

Cas nods.

"You don't have to hide anymore, sweetheart," he says as Cas unfurls cautiously. "There we go. There you are."

And with a sudden snap, Cas' human body dissolved revealing his true form.

And somehow, Dean held him. And somehow, Dean knew how to kiss his form. And somehow, Cas was out of the Empty, grace mingled with Dean's soul.

Dean stood up and led Cas to their nest. Cas immediately felt the beams soaring with faith and hope. He sensed the small details of bees in their hives and guinea pigs in burrows and the vervets sleeping in the acacia trees. And the clean ground of Purgatory, made heaven by Dean's prayers in the soil.

"I'm home now," he marveled.

"Yeah, Cas. We're home."


End file.
